


Thunderstorms and Heartbeats

by beespiesandplaid



Category: Raven Cycle - Maggie Stiefvater
Genre: Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M, Rain
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-31
Updated: 2016-07-31
Packaged: 2018-07-28 08:03:58
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 995
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7631788
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beespiesandplaid/pseuds/beespiesandplaid
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ronan and Adam wait out a storm at st Agnes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Thunderstorms and Heartbeats

__

“Fuck you!” Ronan yells at the sky, wrapping his bare arms across his torso in a vain attempt to keep himself warm. He should know better than to go out in December wearing only a tank top, but some lessons take a lifetime to learn. Rain is pouring down, so thick and fast that he can barely see where he is going.

Luckily, the route to St Agnes is muscle memory by now. He hurries up the road, keeping as close to buildings and trees as he can. Lightning cracks across the sky, illuminating the buildings briefly, squat shadows, poor cut outs of the normally picturesque streets. It’s three in the afternoon; it shouldn’t be this dark. Thunder follows, loud enough for Ronan to feel it in his chest. There’s no avoiding the weather, so he embraces it, grinning as he sprints the last stretch to Adam’s.

There is something about standing in a church in the rain that Ronan loves. He can’t really describe it, exactly, but it’s a quiet, peaceful feeling. Like God is sheltering him himself whilst the heavens wreak havoc on the rest of the world. Maybe it’s silly, but he feels closer to his faith in the rain. He pauses for a moment in the doorway, enjoying the soft gloom of the church, watching the droplets slide down the windows. He’s slowly dripping over the floor though, so he makes his way up the creaking wooden steps to Adam’s room.

Adam isn’t home yet; he’s working until four. Ronan is early. Not that they have really planned anything, but Ronan heard there was a storm coming, and decided that spending it holed up with Adam was preferable to spending it with Gansey (who was bad at storms.)

There is only one towel in Adam’s room, a threadbare old thing. He doesn’t want Adam to come back and find that Ronan has used his only towel. But he is soaking wet. So he strips and dries himself roughly, and borrows a pair of Adam’s boxers. He collapses, shivering, into Adam’s bed, and pulls the blanket over himself, silently thanking freezing winters for persuading Adam to accept the gift of the wonderfully soft duvet he and Gansey had given him last Christmas.

He closes his eyes and slips into a dream easily, quickly putting together his idea, pulling it out of sleep before it can disintegrate back into fragments. He sits up, triumphant, holding a thick, soft towel. It’s warm, and it will always be warm. Satisfied, he folds it up and sets it on the end of the bed, laying back down and staring up at the skylight. Rain pounds down on the glass, as loud as if he were sat in a greenhouse. The church roof is not insulated, and the glass is only single glazed. It’s like being held in the hand of the storm.

Rain is so much nicer when you are dry.

He knows when Adam is on his way home; the church door always slams shut, no matter how gently you close it, and the stairs creak something chronic. He sits up, suddenly feeling self-conscious in Adam’s bed. It’s presumptuous, but they’ve been dating for two months – presumptuous is allowed, right.

Adam opens the door, emerges from the shadowy stairwell into the grey light of the room. Ronan feels his face crack open in a smile, and he stands up, shivering.

“You’re wet,” he says. He leans in to kiss him, but Adam places a cold hand on his chest.

“I’m freezing and soaking. I’ll get you all wet.”

“I don’t mind,” Ronan says, but he only pecks him on the lips. “Here, I made you something. Well, dreamt it.”

“Ronan…” Adam begins, because he has this _thing_ about presents, even now.

“Sssh. It was only because I used your towel and got it all wet,” he says, because with Adam gifts need justification. He hands him the towel, feeling a thrill at the small expression of joy that crosses Adam’s face.

“It’s really fucking soft, OK, and if you don’t want it, I’ll keep it.”

Adam grins and shrugs out of his wet clothes, wrapping himself in the towel. “It’s great,” he says. “didn’t fancy riding out the storm with Gansey?”

“You know he’s the worst when it’s stormy,” Ronan groans. “He’s been panic buying tin cans since since last week. And there are buckets everywhere in case of drips.”

Adam rolls his eyes. “Well, we’d best hope it doesn’t last too long. I’ve got no food.”

Ronan gestures to the plastic bag in the corner. “I brought supplies – instant hot chocolate, bread, peanut butter, and chocolate.”

“I’ve got eggs,” Adam offers.

Another round of thunder echoes, bright blue lighting flashes turning the room into a horror movie reflection of itself.

“Powers out,” Adam says. “Went off just before I finished work, so I got off early.”

“We’ve got candles, right?”

“Of course. Can you pass me that shirt?”

Ronan passes him the shirt, pulls him in for a kiss before he can put it on. The kiss grows into something deeper and they end up under the duvet, curled on the thin mattress beneath the skylight. Ronan traces patterns on Adam’s skin, feels his heart beat slow and steady, a metronome to the rapid pitter patter of the rain. Adam’s breathing is soft beside his.

“I’m glad you took a gap year,” Ronan says. Adam makes a soft sound of agreement, rolling over and pressing his nose into Ronan’s neck. He shivers; Adam’s breath is ticklish.

“How long do you think this storm will last?” Adam asks, and Ronan listens to the rain. It doesn’t sound like it’s going to give up anytime soon.

“Hopefully forever,” he whispers, feigning sleep before Adam can call him out on his sappiness. Adam laughs against his neck, rest his hand on his chest. Ronan falls asleep to thunder and the soft caress of Adams absent minded fingers.


End file.
